Hiding behind words
by canihavea-soda
Summary: A slight parody on the HarryDraco pairing. In which Draco must hide behind words in the fashion of a politician, in order to make himself understood. Alas, he's never been particularly eloquent. Tentative homosexual relationship in the making.
1. Chapter one

**Hiding behind words**

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter JKRowling. Scenario – partially gleaned from an author whose ideas I like, but hopefully with enough of a twist to keep people enjoying themselves._

_Harry/Draco. Merely because it could never work. And I like breaking canon taboos like a madwoman. Most likely disgusting OOC. Yay. _

_Thoughts in italics._

* * *

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived and hero of the magical world, wanted to be alone. Ever since he'd returned to school for his sixth year, he'd not been allowed a moment's peace. He knew people were worried about him – hell, he was worried about himself as well… But he'd had enough of their constant attentions. He didn't particularly like the way that every teacher (apart from Snape, of course), would talk to him in a hushed voice, as though he were on his deathbed. 

It just…reminded him of things he'd rather not be reminded of. _Sirius – bloody hell, why couldn't you just stay at home? _He frowned darkly at the thought, though wasn't able to stay angry for long. A sob bubbled in his throat, and he pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes, determined not to cry. _I've done enough of that to last me a lifetime. _

And then there were his two best friends; Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. It seemed that the clever Gryffindor witch had acquired some knowledge about psychoanalysis from some book or other, and was determined to try it out on him. She was constantly asking him how he was and if he wanted to 'sit down and talk about things'. Most of the time he was able to fend her off, but when Ron joined in as well, it was just… Just too much.

The young wizard looked up at the starlit sky from his perch on the rock overhang that extended out over the Great Lake. He sighed heavily, and his breath misted before him in the frosty air. Snow was heavy on the ground all around him; the sound of crunching footsteps alerted him to the fact that someone else was outside on the cruel winter's night. He mentally cursed, and pointedly ignored whoever it was, keeping his eyes trained on the sky.

The footsteps came to a halt at the base of the rocky overhang. Feeling curious, Harry tore his emerald eyes away from the sky for a moment, and cast a glance over his shoulder. The person who stood there didn't seem to notice him do this – they too looked up at the sky above, pale face bright in the silver moonlight. _What's _he_ doing out here? _Harry scowled, and turned back to look out over the lake. _I come out here to be alone, and then that git shows up. _He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his freezing hands beneath his arms to try and warm them up again.

After a few minutes of tense silence, in which neither person spoke, Harry huffed loudly and turned around to confront the other. He didn't bother to stand up, instead rising onto one knee and pointedly taking out his wand. "What are you doing out here, Malfoy?" he spat out the name like it was a swear word. He raised his eyebrow when he saw the pale Slytherin boy flinch. Grey eyes met green, and the boy-who-lived was surprised at the lack of animosity in the gaze of his arch-nemesis, Draco Malfoy.

He quickly regained himself though, and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be in the Great Hall with your wonderful bodyguards, celebrating cheating us out of our match?" the Gryffindor hissed, still sore over the memory of the dirty Quidditch game played only a couple of weeks ago. Ron had been knocked off his broom, and Harry's Firebolt had lost a good many tail-twigs when one of the Slytherin beaters had lunged at him with their club.

The blond boy looked away, back up to the glittering sky again. He took a deep breath, and then fixed Harry under a cold glare. "Who the hell do you think you are to presume to know where I _should_ be?"

"Well, I don't know who _you_ think I am, but I just happen to be Harry Potter, you idiot," Harry muttered with a small smirk. Malfoy just frowned, before quietly adding,

"Besides, I wanted to be alone…" A sudden thought seemed to strike the Slytherin. "Why aren't _you_ in the Great Hall then? I'm sure your little fanclub will be distraught that you're missing Christmas dinner." He sneered on the word 'fanclub'. Harry just ignored the jab at his friends, and the odd Creevey brothers (whom he had become used to being stalked by.)

"It's none of your fucking business Malfoy."

"Just as what I'm doing out here is none of your fucking business. Now, will you be quiet, you're spoiling the atmosphere."

"And you're not with that aftershave?" the Gryffindor sniggered, just managing to catch sight of an annoyed twitch on the Slytherin's temple, before he turned around to look over the lake once more. The uncomfortable silence returned again, and no matter how much he tried, Harry was unable to enjoy the beautiful evening now that he knew Malfoy was standing behind him. Even though the enmity between them had died down to a dull dislike and the slinging of a few insults at one another in the classroom, he still felt uncomfortable in the blond's presence.

_Though that may have more to do with my own twisted mind than anything he's done… _Harry looked down at the snow that covered his shoes, and thought about the weird dreams he'd been having involving the Slytherin lately. _Not really _lately…_they've been going for a year, give or take… _Hermione would probably be delighted to hear about them – they'd be fantastic practice for her psychoanalytical rubbish.

_Somehow, I don't think I'll be sharing this stuff with her though,_ the dark-haired boy decided, with a guilty smile on his face. _It's an interesting secret to have after all… If only I wasn't so fucking famous, maybe I could even see what would happen if I- _Running footsteps cut through his train of thought. He snapped his head up, and then looked over his shoulder, wondering if Malfoy was about to attack him.

However, all Harry saw was Malfoy's retreating figure. He wondered why the other was running, and what had spooked him (if anything.) _I'll be damned if I can figure out the workings of that prat's mind. _With a small groan, he hoisted himself to his feet, deciding that it was probably time to go back up to the castle. _Wouldn't want Hermione to have an aneurysm after all…_

As he walked down to the bottom of the overhang, in order to start making his way back up to school, something lying on the crisp snow caught his eye. It lay where Malfoy had stood, and on closer inspection, the object turned out to be a letter – addressed to 'Mr. Harry Potter'. _What the-? _Suspiciously, he approached the folded parchment, wondering if it was about to explode or otherwise harm him. It would be just like Malfoy to try and trick him after all.

_Well, I'm not going to find out just by looking at it. _After a deep breath to calm his nerves, the young wizard reached out with his wand and prodded the letter. When it didn't explode, he let out the breath he'd held. _Well at least I still have my arm. _Just as tentatively as he'd approached, he reached out and picked up the letter with his left hand. Curiously (and holding it at arms length), he broke the wax seal, and unfolded the parchment. He jumped when a couple of sheets of paper fluttered out and onto the snow. When he realised that nothing had hurt him, he stooped down and picked up the lost pages.

His eyes widened as he recognised pages and pages of Malfoy's ever-neat handwriting. After a quick count, he discovered there to be five in all. He shuffled them back into the right order, and then started to try and read the first page. However, even with the bright moonlight, it was too dim to make of the words properly. Harry did think about using 'lumos' in order to read the letter, but decided that he may as well read it up at the school.

_After all, it'll be a hell of a lot warmer up there than out here. And everyone will be at the feast, so I'll get some quiet up in the dorm… _With this decision in mind, the Gryffindor started trudging back up the school, tucking the sheaf of parchment into his robes as he did so.

* * *

Draco watched Harry ascending towards the school with trepidation. Judging by the boy's puzzled face, and the short amount of time since he'd left, he guessed that Harry hadn't read the letter yet. Heart pounding, he quickly ducked back behind the corner of greenhouse five, glad that the snow had drifted around it, creating the perfect hiding place for him. The dark-haired Gryffindor paused (Draco could tell by the fact that his crunching footsteps had stopped.)

Carefully, the Slytherin leant around the corner of the building once more, feeling terror bubbling up inside him. _I wonder if I could just stun him and grab the letter back? _He'd already half withdrawn his wand before he thought better of it. With a bright red flush on his cheeks, he watched the Gryffindor take one last look up at the starry sky, before hurrying up the steps and into the school.

Draco shakily leant against the cold glass of the greenhouse, wondering what the hell he was doing. _I must be mad…he'll probably kill me…either that or this will be all over the school in no time! _He groaned, and slid down the glass wall, coming to an abrupt halt against the ground (and soaking his trousers in the process.) Then, he put his head in his hands, and started wondering about his own sanity. _I really wish I hadn't used that bloody dictating quill…I bet I sound like a gormless idiot…most of that's probably me going 'ummm', 'errr'. _

Draco just groaned again, and lifted his head from his hands. Not only was he probably never going to live down what he'd just done, but, if Harry told anyone, he might as well kiss his arse goodbye. _Not to mention my inheritence… Father's going to bloody kill me. _The blond sighed, and scratched the back of his head, unable to keep still.

He'd been like this for a while now… Ever since the spring of fifth year, he'd been having odd…dreams, he supposed, though at first he'd seen them more like nightmares. But…when they'd persevered, he'd come to realise exactly what they meant. Which was why his insults and taunts had ended up becoming so lacklustre towards Harry. _Though I think I more than made up for it with Weasel and Mudblood. _Draco momentarily winced as he thought of the other two members of the dream team like that. If he were ever going to convince Harry that he'd changed, he'd need to address that issue straight away.

_He won't give a damn if I've changed or not…probably likes girls as it is… He's been chasing after Cho Chang for ages now. Though…_ Draco thought back to fifth year, and remembered that Harry and Cho had had a fight of sorts. _Which might give me a standing chance after all… _The Slytherin smiled, and climbed to his feet, intending to head back inside, and try and get himself something to eat before the feast was over.

He scuffed his feet through the powdery snow, watching as it exploded with every step he took. A small cough startled him, and he looked up at the main doors into the castle wildly. As soon as he realised who it was, he ground to a halt, and tried not to look as queasy as he felt. _I thought he went inside!_

For, who else was standing there, but the boy-who-lived himself! Draco swallowed loudly, and averted his eyes back to the snow around his feet. He decided that he'd rather chance a shouting match with Harry, than getting a cold and having to take some pepper-up potion (which would result in him looking like a prat with steam pouring out of his ears); so, the Slytherin boldly climbed up the steps, and breezed past Harry.

Harry said nothing, merely watching the blond as he walked past. Draco picked up speed when he heard the front doors click closed behind him, bypassing the great hall in favour of the safety of the dungeons. He hurried down the steps into the dank, underground passageways of the castle, and broke into a run as soon as he reached level ground once more. _Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck! _

* * *

_Thus ends chapter one. Woot and all that. In chapter two, we bring you the wonderful dictated letter, full of 'ummms' and 'errrs' galore!_


	2. Chapter two

**Hiding behind words**

_Welcome to chapter two of the OOC madness that is Harry/Draco. Feel free to laugh at and/or flame me for this. I know I would._

* * *

After watching Malfoy flee down towards the dungeons, Harry made his way up to the common room. With every step, the letter rustled inside his robes, reminding him that it was still there. He didn't dare take it out in the corridors, in case someone spotted him – he had a feeling even his mail might not be sacred anymore, with Voldermort's power strengthening by the day. _Besides, everyone knows how bloody neat Malfoy's handwriting is – they'd recognise it immediately!_ Even so, it took all of his self-control not to flip the parchment out and read it on his journey to the tower.

_I wonder what it says? Probably insults…or maybe some stuff for the Order… If it is, I should take it straight to Dumbledore! _He swivelled around, and began to head back towards the set of steps he'd just ascended, intending to go to the head master's office. Yet, when a sprig of holly on the banister caught his eye, he remembered what day it was, and that Dumbledore was likely to be in the hall with the rest of the school. _I guess I'd better read it first anyway, just in case…_

_Just in case what? _He asked himself. _What else would Malfoy bother writing to _me_ about? Five pages no less! _Harry decided that it _must_ have something to do with the Order, considering how long the message was. Even though Malfoy was a detestable bastard most of the time, he had helped the Order a lot already. He'd joined in the summer, able to return to Hogwarts under the pretence that he was studying for a 'Potion's Mastership' under Snape, who'd agreed to back the story up. He knew, were it not for Snape's intervention, that Draco would have been transferred to Durmstrang Academy (something that Ron was incredibly sore about!) Other than that, the Gryffindor didn't know anything else about the arrangements for Malfoy…just that he'd been very helpful.

_Even if it is about the Order, why would he write to me and not Dumbledore? And he wouldn't leave something that important just lying in the snow, in the off chance that I'd see it. _All these thoughts circulated in his mind, every single pattern of thoughts reaching the same conclusion; Harry had no idea why Malfoy would be writing to him.

It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time the boy-who-lived reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was surrounded by a flurry of painted pixies, who were providing music for Sir Cadugon, his horse and two red-faced monks that she was entertaining. She looked up at the sound of him approaching, and hiccupped loudly, before girlishly giggling, "P-password?"

"Twinkletoes," he answered, feeling stupid when the residents of the painting all burst into laughter. The Fat Lady nodded, and the portrait swung open. Harry hopped in, and feeling particularly vindictive, due to the ridiculous Yuletide password, slammed the portrait closed behind him. A loud burp and a raucous cacophony of giggling followed him into the common room, which was covered in red and gold decorations.

The dark-haired boy made his way over to one of the large armchairs by the fire, taking care not to walk under any of the sprigs of mistletoe on the ceiling. They trapped unwary students, and kept them there until someone kissed them and released them. Personally, after having Dennis Creevey offer to free him, he didn't want to relive the experience.

_Personally, I'd rather not live the Christmas experience at all,_ he thought grumpily, plonking down onto a chair and looking at the flickering flames in the fireplace. His frown was briefly replaced with a smile when he remembered Sirius talking to him through the fireplace a couple of years ago, during the Tri-Wizard Cup. He closed his eyes, and imagined that the soft chair that was enveloping him, was really a hug from his Godfather. However, when an ember flared in the fireplace, he opened his eyes, and found himself alone again.

He pulled himself up into a proper sitting position, and after another pensive glance at the fire, took out the sheaf of paper from Malfoy. The edges of the letter were soggy where they'd been lying in the snow, and he carefully extended an arm towards the heat of the fire to dry them off – another ember drifted out, and he quickly withdrew his hand, not wanting to set the paper alight!

_Now to see what the hell all of this is about. _Harry bought both legs up onto his seat and wrapped one arm around them, using his other hand to flip open the pages. He readjusted his glasses, and then began to read.

_To Mr. Harry Potter  
__Care of Mr. Draco Malfoy _

_Right, ummm. Well, I'm writing this letter (dictating it actually). No quill, you don't need to write that bit down – just edit out the stuff that isn't important. Got that? Good. Now, where was I? Errr – yeah. I'm writing this letter to inform you of something that I've been thinking about for a while now. You're probably going to want to kill me for this in the foreseeable future…I just beg that you hear me out before you try and decapitate me, or whatever the hell it is you muggle people do…  
__For the past year – well, not quite a year – since the spring of fifth year. Not that that matters, but, well, just so you know I guess. Ummm… Well, I've been having; Merlin, this is going to sound so stupid!_

Harry raised his eyebrow, and flipped over to the next page, a small smile on his face. Obviously, Malfoy had forgotten to set his talk and write quill onto the 'edit' setting, so it had written down everything he'd said. _And I always thought he was supposed to be eloquent. _The boy-who-lived shook his head in amusement, and continued to read.

_Never mind about it sounding stupid. I've been trying to find a way to tell you this for ages, so I suppose a letter's going to have to do. You're probably going to laugh at this, but ever since the spring of fifth year, I've been having rather…ummm…how can I put this? Bizarre – no, that's not quite the right word… More… Odd I suppose is a better one. Yes? Yes, odd. I've been having rather odd dreams, which have occurred every few nights over an extended period.  
__Now, this concerns you for two reasons – no! Crabbe, get out of here, I'm trying to write a letter!  
__But, Draco, what about quidditch pract-  
__Bugger off, I'll be there in a minute!  
__OK.  
__Idiot._

_This must have been written a couple of weeks ago, at least, if there was quidditch practice…_ Harry thought as he turned onto the third page. His heart was fluttering in his chest at the mention of dreams, but he told himself the dreams Malfoy was referring to probably weren't anything to do with what he hoped they were to do with. _Hope they're to do with? What the hell's wrong with me, why would I hope something like that would ever…? I'm going mad… Just carry on reading onto the next page…_

_Can't get any bloody privacy round here…  
__Now, these dreams – I've been having them for a while now…and…whilst you're probably going to despise me even more than you already do, I need to say something before I go mad.  
__I just wish I could take back all the arse-hole comments and things I've done in the past, but, c'est la vie, I can't, so… I'll just say sorry. It's the only way I can think to say it. I'm even sorry about the way I've been to Granger and Weasel – Weasley I mean – if that helps…? Probably not… Well, at least I tried, right?_

Harry blinked, and dropped the pile of papers onto his lap for a brief moment, re-reading the third page. _Sorry? Draco Malfoy's saying sorry? If I didn't know any better, I'd say he didn't write this… _He took in a deep, steadying breath, and went onto the penultimate page.

_OK, enough rambling. The dreams. Ummm…  
__The long and short of them comes down to this.  
__You. Me. A romantic attachment of…sorts… Between the two of us, I mean. Errr – heh – absurd, I know…but…there you are. You're probably a little shocked; apparently homosexuality is frowned upon by muggles (at least if what I've heard is right on that count), so no doubt you think me very odd. But, well, it's different in the magical community, Harry…  
__It's weird not calling you Potter…hmmm…  
__Anyway – it just – isn't that much of a stigma, and…I thought…maybe… But no, you'd never…what with Cho Chang and… This was all just silly…_

The Gryffindor's hands shook slightly as he turned to the final page, on which the handwriting was a lot messier, and written in blue ink, rather than black. _He must have written this after the rest of the letter – and in a hurry, judging by the writing. _Having to pause every so often to decipher a messily scribbled word, he pored over the last page, disbelief mounting on top of a desperate wish _to_ believe all that he read. _I really have gone mad. _

_Harry. I haven't been particularly eloquent. But that doesn't matter. If you decide that you don't want to kill me and/or publicly humiliate me (and I wouldn't blame you…I've been a prick), then all I ask is a letter in return. I'd suggest using a school owl because people know your one. Perhaps I'll be able to make more sense face to face?_

Beneath this scribbled mess was Draco's signature, and a stamp of the Malfoy family crest. Harry let out a low whistle, and looked up at the fireplace. The clock on the mantle above it caught his eye, and he saw that people would soon be returning from the Christmas feast. Rather than stay and make small talk with them, he decided that he wanted to reply to Malfoy at once. _I don't think I'd be able to wait around and talk to Ron and 'Mione with something like this to think about… _

He wasn't entirely sure what he thought of the situation to be honest… _Maybe talking to Malfoy face to face will help me figure out what's really going on. _The pessimistic side of him immediately decided that this was some sort of elaborate farce to make him look stupid, yet the optimistic side told him 'not to be such a big girl's blouse, and speak to the boy for heaven's sake.'

His optimistic side sounded surprisingly like Sirius.

With a slight chuckle at his own madness, Harry slid off the chair, and left the common room, in order to hurry up the stairs to grab his school bag, which was still full of parchment, quills and ink. This done, he hurried back downstairs, and exited the tower, turning right towards the owlery.

* * *

Draco hurried along the dank underground passageways of the dungeons, his speed fuelled by his nerves. He still couldn't believe what he'd done, but he'd be damned if he was going to back out now. He'd been carrying that letter around ever since the last quidditch practice before the dirty match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. So many times he'd contemplated just tearing it up, or muttering 'incendio' as he walked the Castle grounds, just to be rid of it.

Finally, that morning, something had just snapped in him...

:-:-:-:-:

He'd been reading the usual pompous letter from his parents, wishing him a Merry Christmas and all that, and had opened his expensive and completely useless presents, when he heard laughter from the common room. Curiously, he'd wandered in, only to find his fellow Slytherins passing around a copy of the Daily Prophet.

As one of the richest children in the house, it had been easy enough for him to demand to see the paper. He took it, the rest of the house crowding around their prince, and smoothed out the paper so that he could read the headline. However, it was the picture that caught his eye first. _Is that one of the Wease- _Weasley _twins? _The black and white picture didn't show the shocking red hair, but he recognised the young man, who was leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, because his legs had literally turned to jelly!

The blazing headline read 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Wobbles With Owners Wibble-candy Woe'. He smirked slightly, but then his eyes caught the first paragraph of the article, which was in bold print (he also noticed with a raised eyebrow that it had been written by Rita Skeeter.) He remembered being interviewed by the woman, and wrinkled his nose at the memory of her disgusting artificially blonde hair and cheap scent.

The first paragraph explained the situation, which was a lot dourer than he'd thought. _Mr Fred Weasley today announced that his brother, George (pictured above) experienced a severe allergic reaction to the well-loved 'Wibble-candy', and urges that anyone who has bought the sweets to return them immediately in case of defects. "We've not discovered what's wrong with them yet, but we're working on it," a disgruntled George Weasley informed us, as he made his way out of a car and into St. Mungo's yesterday afternoon. _

Draco was nudged in the ribs by Pansy Parkinson, who giggled, "Isn't it funny? Stupid muggle-lovers are going to have to refund every penny – and who knows, that one mightn't ever get his legs back to normal!" She laughed again, and he joined in with a soft chuckle of his own, folding the paper and handing it back to the second year that had given it to him. The second year hurried back over to his group of friends, presumably to talk about the article.

Pansy hung around hopefully next to Draco – he found that he wasn't in the mood to amuse her, and abruptly turned around and headed back into his dorm. A quick glance over his shoulder affirmed his hunch that this had annoyed the girl, and he smiled to try and make amends. She returned the smile with a fake, tight-lipped one of her own, and then hurried off with Blaise Zabini, probably to discuss Christmas presents…or something girly…

Back in the dormitory, Draco walked over to his bed and slumped onto it face down, a sound of annoyance bursting out of him, only to be muffled by the heavy blankets on the bed. _I bloody hate this house! _He rolled over, and stared up at the canopy of his bed, listening to the sounds of the other Slytherin's down in the common room. It was like a low, lilting hum, which rose and fell like waves on the sea.

Since it was still quite early on in the day (everyone had been roused by a bunch of sadistic and excitable seventh years at around six), he closed his eyes, planning to catch up on some sleep. _It's not as though I've anything planned for the day. _The Slytherin reached up to grab one of his pillows, brushing against a pile of parchments underneath the pillow as he did so. _Ah…that's still there…_ He picked up the letter as well, and frowned at the pages of writing.

Yet another shriek of laughter from the common room startled him, and he looked over at the door to the dormitory with wide eyes. _Can't they just be quiet for a few minutes? _He pondered, sitting up on the bed, his resolve firming. _Don't particularly fancy another round of Christmas games like last year, after all… Maybe I should do some of that Potions homework… _The idea of working didn't really appeal, but getting out of the dungeons did.

_Just full of bastards and backstabbers anyway…_

That was how it had come to be that the Slytherin prince had fled his house, and had wandered around the quiet hallways for about an hour, before settling in the library with a copy of 'Hogwarts: A History', balanced on his knee. _Granger keeps quoting it… I'm beginning to wonder what all the fuss is about. _A few hours later, when lunch was called, he was so engrossed in the book, that he only realised when he looked up to find Pansy, Blaise, Vincent and Gregory looming over him.

"Come on Draco, it's lunch!" Pansy grinned, snatching the book from his hands and putting it onto one of the many bookshelves around them. "You can do work anytime; it's Christmas for goodness sake!" Before he could think of anything clever to say to protest, the girl had grabbed his hand and yanked him from his seat. _I guess I'm going to lunch then…_

After an excruciating lunch, full of the usual bitching and griping of the Slytherin house (most were still on about the article in the Daily Prophet), Draco was all too happy to quietly slip out of the hall and into the grounds. _Maybe a walk will cheer me up… _He had wanted to go back to the library, but he'd seen Granger dragging Weasley off up there. _Wouldn't want to disturb them… _

It wasn't just that though…he'd seen the redhead casting sour looks over at the Slytherins for most of lunch, and knew that he too must have seen the article in the Daily Prophet. Draco had taken care not to mention anything about it, but Weasley usually put two and two together and came up with five… _So…probably best not to risk my chances… I like my nose this shape… _

So, as subtly as he could, Draco fled the castle and used the grounds as a sanctuary from the madness of his own house, and the members of the others.

:-:-:-:-:

_I just had to go and see him, didn't I? _The blond thought, cursing himself. _I'm dead… Sod it, may as well Avada Kedavra myself and be done with it! _He reached the patch of dank stone wall that led into Slytherin house, and muttered the password with a small trace of annoyed venom. "Mudbloods beware." Some smart alec had decided that the words of the heir of Slytherin would be perfect, and no one had objected.

Again disgusted by his own house, he nonetheless hurried inside, planning to barricade himself into his room and not come out until he absolutely had to.

* * *

_Don't we all love the eloquence of a certain Malfoy? ::Sniggers:: that letter was fun to write… Sounds about as intelligent as I do when I have to give geography presentations to the little monsters in year seven. ::Shudders:: hard to believe I was ever that small and scary looking…_

_::Is informed that she is still small and scary looking by a passing pair of Weasley twins.:: I would hurt them – but then I wouldn't have any twincest to read. ::Weasley twins scamper off, looking scandalised.:: Heh, I'm a bad, bad author._


	3. Chapter three

**Hiding behind words**

_More amusing letters, some nonsense about Christmas cards, and a dream. Oh, and a lack of shirts. ::Giggles childishly.::_

* * *

Harry sat cross-legged on the dropping covered floor of the owlery, eyes closed in concentration, and head tilted back against the rough, damp walls of the tower. Snow had drifted in through the partially collapsed tower roof and it was bitterly cold up here… he didn't take much notice of that though. Agitatedly, he rolled a quill between his hands, blank piece of parchment glaring oppressively at him from where it rested on his knee.

Somewhere overhead, in the great mass of owls, Harry knew Hedwig was probably watching him. Just waiting around expectantly until he finished his letter and needed it delivered. _She's going to be annoyed when I tell her I have to use another owl, _he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly on remembering her annoyance at not being able to deliver his letters to Sirius in fourth year…

Sighing, he opened his eyes, and stopped rolling the quill. _What the hell am I supposed to write? By all means, we're supposed to hate each other, after all… _An owl fluttered into the tower but he ignored it, green eyes staring fixedly at the small snowdrift opposite him. _I wonder if Malfoy's back out in the grounds? _Harry quickly dismissed this idea – Malfoy had headed down into the dungeons after all. _It's doubtful the front doors would let him back outside now that it's dark anyway. _(The teachers had taught the doors to ensure that students had a viable reason to be out of the castle after dark. Apparently, it was becoming dangerous to even walk the grounds at night.)

_Should I reply so soon? I want to know more…but I don't want to seem…urm…too 'interested', I suppose. _He tapped the feathered end of the quill against his cheek, other hand steadying the piece of parchment. The sudden urge to do as Malfoy had done, and use a talk and write quill, came to him. He frowned and quickly dismissed the idea. _After all, I'm still not entirely sure whether this is some sort of farcical trick or not…_

_Hope not… _A wry grin appeared on his face at this thought, and he looked guiltily around, as if expecting Ron and Hermione to burst out at any time. The smile faded when he looked back at that blank page.

Lest it be a trick, Harry wanted to make sense…and sounding as befuddled as Malfoy had wouldn't really do that. _So…how to put it? _When a thought came to him, he quickly uncorked the bottle of black ink that lay on the floor next to him. Then, with a flourish, he began to write; Harry didn't bother with a signature, or to even write the name of the recipient – he trusted that Malfoy would be able to guess the origins of the note well enough.

_I received the letter – perhaps we could meet to discuss it further. I swear not to kill you, nor to allow this to go beyond myself. I'm a bit confused though…so a place and time of your choosing would be a good start. Reply soon. _

Harry read the note through, smiled, then frowned. With a soft growl, he screwed it up and let it tumble onto the floor. _Sounds too formal…too…oh, I don't know! Try again – the idea was all right. Handwriting needs improvement. This time I'll make it legible…_

This process continued for some time, until the floor around the boy-who-lived was littered with scrunched up pieces of parchment. Hedwig had moved down onto one of the lower perches, and was hooting softly every now and then, perhaps feeling the mood of her master. At each hoot, Harry would look up just long enough to spare the ghostly shape of the owl a wan smile – the creature wasn't fooled, but didn't dare push her luck by moving closer.

The sound of footsteps leading up the tower steps and to the owlery startled Harry in his twelfth attempt, and a large inkblot resulted. Swearing under his breath, he picked up his wand from a convenient ledge on the wall, and muttered "Knox!" The light at the tip of his wand that he had been using to write by was extinguished, and he was plunged into darkness. Looking up, he could still make out the Hedwig, practically glowing in the gloom.

"I can't believe I forgot to send off those Christmas cards!" a girl's voice chuckled, bouncing off of the tower walls.

"Well, I did remind you. Several times in fact! And now they're gonna be late, aren't they? Might not even reach them before the day's out," a boy contested, tone more jesting than serious. The footsteps stopped and Harry heard the girl sigh.

"Well, what do you think I should do?"

"I dunno," the boy answered, and Harry could almost imagine him shrugging his shoulders.

When the footsteps resumed, the boy-who-lived pressed his back against the wall, cold damp cutting through his robes and shirt. _They're bound to be curious about what I'm doing up here. _He briefly cursed his fame, just as he had millions of times before, and looked about for a hiding place…but there were none…

"Look, I'll just go in and send these and hope they get there…and that's the best I can- Bugger!" There was the sound of a collision, and the boy exclaimed in pain,

"OW! Hey, what'd you stop for?"

"I left the cards back in the dorm," she groaned.

"Why not just accio them?"

"Because my wand's there as well, idiot! But…hang on…you could though!"

"Couldn't."

"Why not?" the girl's tone was deadly.

"Same reason."

"Oh bloody hell – come on then." And with that, the footsteps started to descend again as the students went back down the tower. Harry found that he could suddenly breathe normally again, and took great advantage of this fact.

Not wanting to risk the chance that they would come back soon, he quickly finished the note he had been writing, undoing the inkblot with his wand. When the final note was done, he folded it into quarters, and stood up. His legs wavered a little from sitting on the cold floor for so long, and he paused momentarily to get the feeling back into his limbs before making his way over to the nearest perch.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and made to come over. "No girl; sorry. This has to be taken by someone else – everyone knows you're mine, and I don't want people knowing I sent this." The owl's wide eyes looked reproachful. He reached out to pet her apologetically on the head; when she nipped his fingers affectionately, he felt a rush of gratitude surge through him, knowing that she understood. _She's pissed off, but she knows why I'm doing this… _"Good girl," Harry whispered, now moving to one of the school owls.

The large barn owl resignedly stuck out its leg and allowed Harry to tie the letter there. "Deliver this to Draco Malfoy," he told the owl, then remembering his manners, he added, "please." It took off immediately and disappeared out through the hole in the roof, disappearing quickly into the night sky. Harry felt a little guilty, knowing that the owl wouldn't be able to deliver until breakfast the next morning (seeing as the Slytherin house was in the dungeons.)

This guilt was soon replaced by agonising anticipation as he gathered together his pile of failed letters and used "Incendio," to destroy the lot. Then, he stuffed his bottle of ink and quill back into his bag, slung it over his shoulder and hurried out of the owlery. He wanted to make sure he was as far away from it as possible before the boy and girl returned with their belated Christmas cards.

* * *

Having paced his dorm room for an uncountable amount of time or steps, Draco found himself exhausted. The initial adrenaline rush of giving Harry the letter had long since worn off, leaving him with a headache and devilishly tired. When the stream of yawns became almost continuous and the heavy silence of the house that little bit more oppressive, he gave up. With a soft sigh, he sank down onto the edge of his four-poster, staring unseeingly at the tapestry on the wall before him…

_If he decides to come and kill me, I don't care… I'll be asleep anyway… _Draco smirked at his own pessimism. The smile didn't remain for long though, and with yet another sigh (he seemed to be doing that a lot recently), he collapsed backwards onto the bed. Removing his shoes seemed like the prudent thing to do. _Can't really be bothered though… _Instead, the blond swung his legs up onto the bed, muddy and wet school shoes leaving large wet patches on his coverlet. _House elves are going to hate me in the morning… _He yawned again, and blindly reached out for the comforter that lay neatly folded at the end of the bed.

Unable to find it, he mentally stuck up his middle finger to whoever had moved it (_actually, it was probably me_) and pulled his damp cloak around himself. Not really caring about the cold or the wet, or even the strands of too-long hair that were tickling his nose, he allowed his head to sink into the soft mattress. Glad that Vincent and Gregory were already asleep, he allowed himself one, small, childish comfort.

He put his thumb into his mouth, and took comfort in the familiar action. It connected him in some way to his past – to simpler, safer times. _…wish I was a kid again…_ With memories of days before he'd gained the mark, the days when his father still smiled and his mother knew how to laugh, swirled in his mind. He felt content, and as Draco Malfoy drifted into the land of nod, his troubles melted away for a little space of time.

:-:-:-:-:

I groaned as the shuffling sounds of my roommates drew me out of a delightfully uninterrupted sleep. Not wishing to acknowledge the waking world quite yet, I just rolled over onto my other side, grumbling under my breath because my arm had seized up during the night. The sound of movement stopped abruptly, and then dropped to no more than a whisper. _They actually know how to be quiet? Hmmm…this is certainly something new… _

The sound of rustling fabric reached my ears, and then footsteps moving towards the door into the bathroom. They paused briefly, and I wondered what the bloody hell either Gregory or Vincent was doing. Curiously, I rolled onto the side on which I'd slept, which faced the bathroom door. A shaft of light fell across my closed eyes, turning my vision that odd glowing red through my eyelids. The light felt warm, and I basked in it for a few seconds…then…

_Is that sunlight? But…we're underground…what the…? _Now a little more concerned that curious, I opened my eyes fully. After being nearly blinded by the sun (a sight I was most unused to in the mornings), my eyes adjusted. I realised that the lithe figure lingering in the doorway before me was most definitely not one of my roommates. They smiled brightly, green eyes sparkling merrily despite the early hour.

"'morning love," he said, now moving from the doorway towards me. I felt paralysed as he sat down on my bed _(but _is it_ my bed?) _All around, where there should have been green and silver – the carpets, curtains, walls, beds – there was just a mismatch of colours. The floor was bare wood, with a white rug lying before a large fireplace (in which a small fire crackled away). The bed held a patchwork quilt, and the drapes were heavy blue velvet.

His touch on my shoulder bought my attention away from the room and back to him. "You sure you're all right?" he asked, cool fingers trailing down to lightly touch the dark mark. I bit my lip, and withdrew slightly from his touch, slightly fearful of his easy manner. "Hey, shh," I was unable to evade his arms, and leant against his chest (which only now did I realise was bare – he'd dropped a shirt onto the bed when he'd sat down). He rubbed comforting circles across my back (I too seemed to have lost my shirt…) "I know…it's…not been great, has it?"

I just mumbled something incoherent into his shoulder, but this seemed to do just fine in answer. He drew back, both hands now wrapped around my upper arms. "I know I should already have left, but…well…who knows when we'll be able to next meet?" there was a sad look on his face, but he quickly wiped it away with a smile. "At least we managed to have a nice few days, right?"

I nodded, still finding the situation odd. He released one of my arms, and used his free hand to cup my cheek, running a thumb across it. The soft smile still lingered on his face as he casually flicked his eyes down to see me reaching out to hold his other hand, which he'd also dropped. Then, those green orbs returned to meet my own, and I had to fight the urge to look away…they were just so…unnerving…

_Caring…_

When he began to lean forwards, eyelids drifting down to hide the vibrant green, I allowed myself the guilty pleasure of reciprocating the action. His lips were cool, soft, gentle… _Just for me._ I took the initiative to deepen the kiss, hands moving to his hair and neck, just twirling those black strands around and around my fingers. Soft as silk, black and strangely contrasted against my pale skin. _Beautiful. _

When he started to pull away, an unwarranted whimper escaped me. He blinked his eyes open, and fixed me with a worried gaze. I looked down, feeling embarrassed once more. "Draco?" the use of my name sent a jolt through me like nothing before. _My God, could anything sound better passing his lips? _"Draco, look, I won't go yet if you don't want me to. There's probably a few more hours till I really have to…"

"I…" I started, then stopped, licking my lips to give myself time to think of what to say. "I'd like you to stay…" He nodded, and placed his forehead against mine, intensely staring at me. "Sorry…"

"You've nothing to be sorry about," he murmured, hugging me once more. I sighed, finally deciding that the pleasantness of this all far outweighed the oddness. _May as well go along whilst it lasts… _

When the other shifted slightly a few minutes later, I looked up, to see a sheepish look on his face. "What?" I queried, sitting back. When I did so, 'what' became apparently obvious. His sheepish look was replaced by a suggestive smirk. He leant forwards, breath now hot as he murmured into my ear,

"You seem to have caused me some trouble."

"Oh?" I shuddered pleasurably as his cool fingers once more brushed across my skin. "And…?" I waited with trepidation for the answer.

"Well, I think you owe me some compensation, Draco…" he leant around to whisper into my other ear, arm easily travelling around my waist, as though it had done so many times before. Then, he purred coyly, "Fuck me." I felt my eyebrows rise, but fixed a grin on my face when he looked at me.

With a slight shrug, I mentally decided, _what the hell, may as well…_ "Fine," I answered, feigning annoyance. He just smirked more widely, and shoved me backwards onto the bed…

:-:-:-:-:

Something heavy landed on the end of Draco's bed, andhe started, cloak sticking to him. Gregory had dropped onto the end of the Slytherin prince's bed, and was looking athim expectantly. Groaning,he rubbed my eyes, and tried to hide from him a rather…_personal…_problem. "What do you want?"he demanded shortly, hoping thatthe other boy wouldfuck off soon sohe could sort himself out…

"It's time for breakfast,"the larger boyanswered simply, before then standing up and hurrying out of the dormitory.the blond jusfrowned, and then madehis awkward way into the bathroom. _Fuck sake…fucking dreams… Just hope Potter doesn't kill me when he sees me…_

* * *

_People actually enjoy my OOC drivel? ::Looks stunned:: Urm…thanks I guess! ::Glomps reviewers.::_

_Author notes at ends of chapters from now on – it takes me that long to think of something clever to say O.o''_

_Ah, and we've now had the clichéd dream sequence. LOL, I realised that it wasn't actually quite obvious that this was a parody, so a genre change might be applicable later-on. Oops. _


	4. Chapter four

**Hiding behind words**

Harry rolled over, groaning as the grandfather clock against the far wall chimed the hour, telling him that it was time to wake up. He opened his eyes, and immediately let out a shriek, startling the other members of the dorm out of their stupors.

"Harry? What is it?" Ron asked, the worry evident in his voice. The redhead had already grabbed his wand from his bedside table, and was poised ready to attack. Sheepishly, Harry shuffled away from what had startled him, and Ron lowered his wand. "That bloody cat!" he grumbled, stalking over and picking up Crookshanks from the pillow next to Harry. He then proceeded over to the door that led to the steps down to the common room, and carelessly chucked the ball of ginger fur through it.

"Sorry guys," Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes and sitting up properly, his racing heart calming down slightly after his rude awakening.

"I swear, Hermione needs to get that thing some sort of tracing collar or something…it always gets up here! She should keep it under control!" Ron groused as he padded back over to his bed, and collapsed onto it face-down. Harry ignored him – this was his friend's usual early morning routine. "I don't want to get up," the redhead groaned into his mattress. "Harry, tell McGonagall I'm sick – or that I transfigured myself into a worm or something…"

"Yes Ron," Harry snorted, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, and putting his feet down onto the worn carpet of the floor. "'Morning Neville," he nodded to the clumsy sandy-haired Gryffindor in the bed next along from his. Neville just smiled sleepily, and wrapped his blankets around himself, before embarking on the perilous journey towards the bathroom. It was even more perilous than usual, for Fred and George Weasley had not only returned to redo the year they had run away from, but they had returned with a great deal of products that needed to be 'tested'. More often that not, they were 'tested' on poor old Neville.

After being holed up in the hospital wing after a particularly nasty side-effect just after Hallowe'en, the twins had let up on poor Neville, but were still partial to playing jokes on him every so often.

With all of this in mind, the boy-who-lived forced himself to his feet, deciding it was only chivalrous to accompany his friend to the bathroom. _And it has nothing to do with the fact that he is inherently adorable because of his clumsiness…nope…not at all. _The black-haired teen rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, and hurriedly grabbed his clothes were he'd left them crumpled on the floor the night before. "Hey, Neville, wait up mate."

The clumsy Gryffindor obediently lingered in the doorway, yawning widely and scratching his head. "My mouth tastes like fur," he complained with a slight grin. However, it fell away as a sudden thought struck him. "You don't think they'd hex my toothbrush two days in a row, do you?" Seamus Finnigan (who up until that point had been as motionless as Dean Thomas), burst into laughter at this, rolling over to look at Neville. The sandy-haired boy just flushed, and declared stoutly, "Well, come on, they might have done!"

"In that case, I'm coming along – this I have to see. I missed it first time around, after all!" the Irish teen leapt out from beneath his covers, not bothering to grab any clothes as he made his way to the door. Harry shook his head, amused by Seamus' over-baggy pyjamas, which nearly succeeded in tripping him in his haste.

"It wasn't _that_ funny Seamus," Neville said reproachfully, which only made the Irish boy smile even wider. "Harry, whack him or something – he's deranged!"

"We all know that – it's why we pity him, remember?" Harry said in a confiding manner, walking out of the dorm past the other two and dropping a wink. Neville smirked, and followed, carefully hoisting up the trailing ends of his blankets, to make sure that he didn't trip over them. Seamus fell in behind them, and the three of them heard a loud swear as Ron no doubt woke up Dean in a rather brutal manner with a pillow.

"Christ, he could sleep through a nuclear blast," Harry muttered drily – the other two looked at him quizzically, and he remembered (yet again), that muggle references were lost on them at times.

"Y'what?" Seamus asked.

"Urm – big muggle weapon – makes a huge explosion – very loud," he answered, deciding that full sentences would only confuse them. The other two nodded, pretending to understand, and Neville yelled, having neglected his trailing blankets, and toppled forwards up the stairs. Both Seamus and Harry hurriedly reached out to grab him, succeeding in preventing him from breaking his nose on the cold stone.

"Thanks," the clumsy teen said, righting himself and then carrying on up the stairs. Thankfully, there weren't that many steps left, and they entered the bathroom with no more mishaps. Neville lingered on the threshold, allowing the boy-who-lived and the Irish teen to enter before him.

"It's all right Neville, all-clear," Harry informed him, reaching out and yanking him into the bathroom by his blankets.

"B-but – what if the toothbrush-?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't do the same trick twice – here, I'll even check for you, all right?" the clumsy Gryffindor smiled gratefully. _Bless him. _Harry was a good as his word. He withdrew his wand from the waistband of his pyjama bottoms (paranoia had forced him into never letting the damn thing out of his sight or reach for so much as a second), and advanced towards the row of ceramic sinks below the mirrors on the western wall of the room. The sun's rays poured through the window high above, dazzling him slightly as it was reflected back at him by the silvered surfaces.

Neville's toothbrush lay in his wash-mug, a few drips of green slime left over from the twin's amusing trick the previous day. (They'd hexed Neville's toothbrush so that as soon as he started to brush his teeth, the toothpaste turned into green slime, which had stained his teeth for the entire day. Neville had _not_ been amused.) Making a great show of it, Harry carefully reached out, and plucked the brush from the mug with his thumb and forefinger.

He then dropped it onto the counter-top between the sink the sixth years used, and the sink the fifth years used. Neville had moved forwards by this point, so Harry injected an (obviously) false flinch as he prodded the toothbrush with his wand. "Please tell me you're not planning on acting for a living," Neville commented dryly, and he boy-who-lived was able to see his raised eyebrow in the mirror. He just grinned at the clumsy Gryffindor, and picked up his toothbrush.

"I believe this is safe enough mate," he told him. Neville accepted the toothbrush gratefully, and stepped around past Harry in order to brush his teeth. A sudden gagging sound alerted the both of them to the fact that Seamus was still in the room. Turning around (Neville with toothbrush in mouth), the two teens spied their Irish housemate spitting green slime into the sink at the end of the row. Neville snorted, and quickly turned back to the sink in order to spit out his mouth of toothpaste.

Harry just innocently stuck his wand back into his waistband, and left to go back to the dorms. _I should ask Fred and George to teach me their tricks more often! _He decided, unable to stop smiling as he hurried down the stairs.

When he got back into the dorm, it was to find that Dean had Ron in a very painful looking headlock. Dean looked up as Harry walked over to his bed, and offered a cheery "'morning!" before returning to ruffling Ron's hair with a vengeance. Ron struggled slightly, but was unable to break the hold around his neck.

"Look, I said I'm sorry!" he said, voice sounding a little muffled, seeing as his head was pressed against Dean's side.

"I know. So, Harry, any master plans for offing Snape yet?" Dean carried on the conversation as if the situation was perfectly normal.

"Sadly, nope. If only we could get 'Mione to help – she's the one with the brains." Harry looked at his bed and tried to figure out what it was he had come back to the dorm for in the first place. Dean went back to admonishing Ron, and Harry was perplexed. _What the hell did I come back down here fo-? _

_Tap, tap. _

_Thud._

Dean dropped the redhead and looked at the window. "Oi, Harry, I think it's for you," he nodded towards the window. The black-haired teen hurried over, butterflies in his stomach as the memory of the letter he'd sent the previous night came flooding back to him. Unlatching the window allowed in a flurry of snowflakes, along with his faithful owl, Hedwig.

She hooted gently and ruffled her feathers, hopping onto the windowsill and nuzzling his hand. _Huh?_ The owl didn't seem to have a letter, and he wondered why she was there. The bid just hooted again, and fluttered around slightly, before settling on his pyjama-encased shoulder. _Guess she just wanted some company…_

A few seconds later, Seamus stumbled back into the dorm, looking pale and drawn. "I'm going to kill your brothers Ron!" The redhead just looked up dazedly from the floor and nodded his head,

"Yeah, whatever." The sudden emergence of the Irish teen reminded the boy-who-lived that what he had been looking for (being his clothes), he had left in the bathroom. _Just so bloody distracted at the moment…_ Huffing in annoyance, he nonetheless hurried back up the stairs to the bathroom in order to get dressed, passing Neville on the way up.

The clumsy Gryffindor stopped him with a tap on the shoulder. "Was that really the twins?" he asked, obviously meaning the toothbrush. The black-haired teen just tapped his nose, making Neville smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Draco huffed as he attempted to slick back a particularly stubborn section of his hair. "Bloody – useless – sodding… Oh bugger it!" He dropped both hands to his sides, and watched with detached annoyance as a lock of his platinum hair slowly slid down the side of his face, ending up sticking out at an odd angle and making him look like a prat. "Why couldn't father have bought me a hat for Christmas?" he asked his reflection, scrutinising the bags under his eyes after his restless night.

Thankfully, both Crabbe and Goyle had hurried off to breakfast after waking him, leaving him in the rather luxurious position of having the dormitory all to himself. For once, the threat of being called away by the mark didn't trouble him… _It will delay my inevitable embarrassment and possible murder by father if word of this ever gets out…_ "What the hell was I thinking?" he asked himself, turning away from the dress mirror and facing the empty room. Everything was overtly green – _like his eyes – _his mind supplied, rather unhelpfully.

He was beginning to regret ever laying eyes on Potter, when Pansy Parkison's braying laughter sounded in the corridor. He panicked, and did the first thing he thought of – he hid. Darting from the mirror, he made his way to his bed, and dropped down onto the floor beside it, before rolling over and underneath the bed altogether. _Not a moment too soon!_ He thought as he heard the dormitory door open. _Why the hell are the girls allowed in here, but I can't get into the girl's dorms?_ The Slytherin prince wondered with a small grin.

_No wonder I turned out like this…_ the blond flinched as Pansy called, "Draco, are you in here sweetheart?" _Sweetheart. Fucking hell…_ "Draco?" The dust underneath the bead tickled his nose, and Draco hurriedly reached up a hand to pinch his nose and stem a sneeze. "I guess he must already be at breakfast," the Slytherin girl decided, and a few moments later, the door snapped shut.

Draco exhaled slowly, and waited for about another minute before clambering out from beneath the bed. In the reflection of the dress-mirror, he could see that his previously black robes were now a fetching shade of grey. "Great." The blond grabbed his wand from the pocket of his robes, and proceeded to amend the colour of his robes. He amused himself for a short while by drawing patterns in the dust that covered him, but when he glanced at the clock on the wall, he realised he'd have to hurry if he wanted any breakfast.

_And considering I didn't bother with dinner last night…I'm actually pretty hungry,_ he thought, as he watched the dust disappear. He turned a full circle, glaring studiously into the mirror to ensure that he hadn't missed anything, and then bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile at the reflective surface. "All right dear, you're clean! Now stop gurning and get out of here!" the doddery voice of the mirror made him jump, and he scowled. _Stupid talking mirrors…almost as bad as the paintings…grr…_

Annoyed by the mirror's accusing him of gurning (_gurning indeed? I'd do no such thing, that's so undignified!)_, Draco swept out of the room, wand still firmly clutched in his hand. The few Slytherins that hadn't made their way up from the dungeons and to the Great Hall got out of his way when they saw him coming… After all, every house member knew how to tell when their prince was annoyed.

They also knew it wasn't wise to get in his way when he was angry about something. It never ended well…

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the Great hall only served to fray Draco's nerves further. He felt glad that, as it was the holidays, the school was at least not completely full. _That might well end up driving me insane…or more so than I already am, _he ended his thought, feeling a smile come unbidden to his face when he saw Potter come through the doors into the hall, and walk over to the Gryffindor table.

The Slytherin was sitting in his usual place, turned away from the others in his year, signifying that he didn't wish to be spoken to. Thankfully, even Pansy seemed to understand his meaning, and he was being left alone! _And Harry hasn't tried to kill me yet…which is a good start…_ The blond despondently pushed his food around on his plate, not fancying the scrambled eggs that had looked so appetising only a few seconds before.

Potter suddenly burst into laughter at something Longbottom said to him – Draco bent his head down, and proceeded to sneak glances through his hair at the collection of his Gryffindor rivals. _My God, he looks ready to fall off his chair. _The blond wondered what on earth could possibly be quite so funny…then a terrible feeling hit him, as the boy-who-lived looked up and caught his eye.

The green eyes paralysed the Slytherin, and Draco gulped as the smile on the dark-haired boy's face fell away. Above, the owls were beginning to filter in through the open windows; a loud hoot made the Gryffindor break the gaze. The Slytherin prince inhaled deeply, having forgotten to breathe, and blinked when a large owl dropped onto the table in front of him.

It stuck out its leg, to show a clumsily folded piece of parchment tied to it. Draco blinked, feeing that he recognised the handwriting, but not quite able to place it. _Couldn't be…could it? _As nonchalantly as he could, considering his growing excitement, the blond removed the letter from the owl, and unfolded it beneath the table, to ensure that no one else would see it.

_It is! _His hands shook slightly as he smoothed the parchment out, to show the spidery chicken-scratch of a certain dark-haired, green-eyed Gryffindor.

_Draco,_

_I got our letter, and I promise I won't kill you. Not yet at least. We need to talk – you can pick the place and time. I just need to know what's going on here. Reply soon. _

There was no signature on the parchment, but there was also no doubt in Draco's mind whom the letter was from. Shaking slightly, he ventured another peek at the Gryffindor table.

Those green eyes were waiting to meet his. Green and grey connected, and a message of agreement communicated. Then Hermione Granger patted him on the shoulder, and he looked away. _Bloody mud- No! Damnit… I suppose I'm going to have to stop calling her that if this is going to get anywhere… _Draco frowned slightly, and scrunched the letter up in his hand. Then, he pushed his plate away, and got up from the table.

Without any further ado, he left the Great Hall, feeling slightly faint as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. _Well, I guess it's my move._

_

* * *

__Yes, I'm being lazy. Bah, humbug. As I already said, the plot devices, and hell, this whole story isn't meant to be serious. It's just a parody of a pairing that would never feasibly work, because my little mind is bored of college-work. Hum-de-hum. _

_Next chapter will arrive in the future sometime. Don't know when though. _


End file.
